


Five Times Tony Stark Refused to Apologize and One Time He Did

by Yamx



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ethics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing, Team, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Teambuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamx/pseuds/Yamx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorry seems to be the hardest word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Canaan and Sahiya betaing.

"Cut it out!" 

"You cut it out!"

"Goddammit, Stark, stop the—"

"Don't tell me what to do, birdbrain!" Their voices echoed in the huge dimensions of the training floor in a way that made Steve's teeth itch.

"I'm gonna fucking—"

"Hawkeye, Ironman, front and center. Everyone else, stand down." 

Clint had the good grace to look embarrassed as he dropped down from his perch and jogged towards Steve. Tony kept hovering near his assigned position. "Cap, there's no need to—" 

"Now, Ironman."

Clint reached him, standing to attention. Steve glared and did not tell him to be at ease. A second later, Tony landed next to them, opening his face plate. "You bellowed?"

"This is the third time this week you two have interrupted training with your mindless bickering. Why exactly do you think your childish arguments are more important than team cohesion?" 

"It wasn't my fault, Clint—"

"No way, Stark started it!"

Steve felt his face heat. "Enough!" He rarely lost his temper, but these two were disturbing the entire unit with their nonsense. It wasn't even that they didn't like each other—they got along great most of the time, but sometimes a disagreement would blow up out of all proportion because they were both so dang stubborn and knew how to push every last one of each other's buttons.

Not that Steve wasn't stubborn. He admitted that. He just knew when to rein it in.

Apparently the sight of their team leader getting red-faced and yelling was shocking enough to make even these two shut up. Steve took a deep breath. "I don't give a fig who started it, I'm finishing it." He glared at Tony. "Get out of the armor and hit the showers." He turned to Clint before Tony had a chance to protest. "And you, outside. Five laps around the block." 

"What the—" Clint threw up his hands. "How come he gets to shower and I get to run my ass off in 90 degree weather?"

Steve stepped closer, forcing Clint to look up at him. "Because," he said quietly, "you are a SHIELD agent in prime physical condition and he has a heart problem and thirty percent reduced lung capacity." He half expected Tony to protest that he was perfectly fit to run a marathon, but when Steve looked at him, Tony just avoided his gaze. 

"Shit," Clint swore quietly. "Sorry, Tony." Tony didn't acknowledge that either. 

Clint looked back at Steve with a brisk nod. "Ten rounds around the block. Understood." Steve noted Clint had voluntarily doubled his penance. From the surprised look Tony gave Clint, he'd noticed too. 

Before Tony could comment, Steve nodded. "Make sure you take a bottle of water. Shower when you're back, then meet us in the common room. Go."

"Yes, sir." Clint turned and jogged towards the elevator. Nat handed him a bottle of water as he passed her, with a pointed look that made Clint grimace and shrug. She raised her eyebrows and he ducked his head as he continued on. 

Steve turned back to Tony. "Go. Shower. Then get upstairs and start peeling potatoes." Sometimes the old discipline methods were the best. Tony wasn't a shirker where manual labor was concerned, but he hated dull tasks, and in Steve's estimation peeling vegetables would bore the genius out of his mind within minutes. Since he needed to learn how to see a task through to the end even if it didn't hold his interest, that was perfect. 

Tony sputtered. "Peel potatoes? I don't _cook_!" 

"I'm not asking you to cook, I'm asking you to peel potatoes. With a knife, or one of these newfangled peelers if you must, but by hand. No gadgets. And when you're done with those, do the carrots." Steve figured they could throw in some meat and onions and cook two large pots of stew. With the appetites of the Avengers combined, nothing would go to waste. 

"But I—"

"Tony. Natasha and Thor both have vastly more combat experience than you and still they're here, focused on training, and Bruce is participating just on the off-chance that some of it might sink through to the other guy. We would really like to finish without further interruptions."

Tony's mouth snapped shut. He looked at Bruce guiltily. Bruce smiled, but pointedly looked towards the changing room, which contained both the showers and a bot station that could disassemble the armor. 

Tony sighed and went without another word.

***

Steve, Thor, Natasha and Bruce were just leaving the showers when Clint came back. Steve nodded at him and smiled, hoping there were no hard feelings.

Clint wiped the sweat from his eyes. "You run a tight ship, Cap." He grinned. "I like it." 

Steve squeezed his shoulder. "See you upstairs in ten?"

"Give me fifteen?"

"Sure. No rush." 

When they got upstairs, they found Tony blazing that awful noise he called music at gunfire volume. Steve asked JARVIS to turn it off. Tony gave him a baleful look but didn't protest. 

He had a mountain of unpeeled potatoes in the sink, some peels on a paper towel in front of him, and a much smaller number of peeled potatoes in a bowl. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"I'm going as fast as I can here, okay?" Tony gestured with the peeler and the half-peeled potato in his hand. "This thing is a miracle of poor engineering! I could make a better one in ten minutes."

Steve chuckled. "I'm sure you could, but this one will have to do for now." He gently adjusted Tony's grip on the potato—he was holding it as if he were trying to squeeze out the juice. "Here, try it this way."

Tony nodded thanks and focused back on the task. 

When Clint came upstairs, he looked at Tony and his still mostly empty bowl of potatoes and frowned. Then he looked at Natasha, who raised an eyebrow in a way that apparently explained everything, because now Clint looked at Steve and chuckled. "Sorry I doubted you." 

Steve waved him off. Tony grumbled something, but without rancor. 

"Stark, you're pathetic." Clint started towards the kitchen. "Here, lemme help you so we can eat sometime today." 

"No, Clint," Steve interrupted. "That's Tony's job. He doesn't want help."

Tony snorted. "Want, yes. Deserve—" He looked at Steve and grimaced. "Maybe not." 

"Clint, get your ass over here and watch this," Natasha yelled from the couch. She had the TV tuned to one of those peculiar shows where people demonstrated how bad they were at various tasks in the hopes of being voted into the next round so they could do it again. "This one says he's a trick shooter." 

"Oh, this should be good!" Clint turned towards the couch.

"Wait," Tony said, putting down the potato and opening the fridge. He pulled out a large cup filled with an alarmingly green substance Steve couldn't readily identify. He handed it to Clint. "Made you a smoothie."

Clint took a sip and grinned. "Aw, you remembered my favorite!"

"What? No, I had no idea! The kiwis just needed to go, they were starting to look gross."

Clint chuckled. "Love you too, Stark."

Tony huffed and went back to his potatoes.

Steve didn't bother to hide his smile. Discipline, they could work on. The things that really made a team, they already had.


	2. Chapter 2

The battle had been short, but messy enough that even Captain Straightlace had agreed it was best to go home and shower before assembling in the living room for mission review. 

Tony had mixed feelings about mission reviews. Often they were boring, and sometimes they involved him getting a scolding for being reckless. 

Maybe a bit more often than sometimes, really. Possibly almost every time. 

But on the other hand, they usually came up with really cool ideas to try in their next training session or fun gadgets for him to build. And Clint got scolded almost as often as Tony did, and that was always funny—and made it easier to forgive him for snickering when it was Tony's turn.

Also, if there was scolding, Cap was always careful to check in afterwards, make sure they were cool, listen. And he wasn't too big to apologize if Tony ended up convincing him he was right. So really, overall, mission reviews weren't too bad.

Unless something happened that made Cap flip.

"JARVIS, pause the footage! Can you zoom in on the crowd?" Steve's eyes were burning with single-minded intensity. Tony looked at the screen, trying to figure out what Steve had spotted.

"Yes, Captain Rogers."

"More to the left. Bigger." 

Tony was puzzled. It was just a bunch of college kids waving posters about consumerism and— Oh. 

_Stark must die!_ one of the posters said, in bold letters and with a picture of him—last month's _Forbes_ cover—with a red crosshair centered on his forehead.

"JARVIS, can you print those pictures? Send them to SHIELD and the police?"

"Of course, Captain."

"JARVIS, wait." Tony shook his head at Steve. "Let's not flip out here."

Steve wheeled on him. "Tony, you just got a death threat!"

"Huh." Tony cocked his head. "Must be a day that ends in Y."

Steve blinked. "What?"

Bruce got up. He still looked dopey from the transformation, but he put a careful hand on Steve's arm and tried to explain. "Steve, people in Tony's position get death threats all the time. They're not serious."

Steve's eyes widened. "What? But... why would they do that? Why would anyone...?"

"Just idiots." Bruce shrugged. "I suppose it makes them feel important to think they can scare someone as powerful as Tony."

"Yeah, that's part of it." Tony agreed. "It's also a way to show their friends how tough they are. And, I don't know, college shit? Really Cap, it's no big deal."

"How can it not be a big deal to threaten someone with death?"

"Cap, I get dozens of death threats." He smiled reassuringly. "I got my first one when I was three."

"What?" Somehow, Cap failed to look reassured.

"Vietnam protesters. Really aimed at my old man, of course. 'Your weapons kill innocent children, see how _you_ like it!' type of thing."

"How do you know about this?"

"He told me that night. Thought it was hilarious." Tony shrugged one shoulder. "Gave me nightmares for months." 

The whole team stared at him. Bruce seemed to be desperately looking for something to say. Huh. This might be one of those points where his definition of normal parenting diverged rather sharply from that of other people. Come to think of it, he recalled his mother being pretty upset with his dad for telling him. It had come up in every argument his parents had had for weeks after.

"Well, maybe I didn't handle it that well as a toddler. But you know what, I sort of get it now. He didn't take it seriously because you can't. If I took every death threat seriously, I'd have to live in an underground bunker and never go outside." Of course, laughing off security concerns had been how he ended up separated from Rhodey in Afghanistan. So maybe he was a bit more careful these days.

"But then—how do you know when it _is_ serious? How do you know when to increase security?" Steve's eye were full of earnest concern. Tony decided not to brush him off this time.

"I always have excellent security. I also carry the suit most places and hang out with superheroes a lot."

A corner of Steve's mouth twitched.

"Seriously, though—it's mostly intel. Ear to the ground, contacts in the biz type of stuff. If a professional contract's put out on me, I usually hear about it."

"Professional?" Steve frowned. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Nah. I'm a high difficulty target. A hit on me's costly. Not that many people have the money and the contacts, so... every couple years, I'd say."

"Every couple of..." Steve squeezed his eyes shut the way he did when the 21st century was just too much. "How much would a 'hit' on you be, Tony?"

"Y'know, I've never asked. I know, I know, the press likes to paint me as this ruthless business monster, but the only assassins I ever cavort with are those two." He gestured to Clint and Natasha. 

"Back when I was freelance, I was offered the contract for six million," Natasha said, her voice perfectly flat. 

Tony blinked. That, he had not known. "Thank you for not taking it."

Natasha cocked her head. "Who says I didn't?"

"Well, I'm standing here, alive, so I assume..."

"I took it. But then I changed my mind."

The Black Widow had had a contract on. him. The _Black Widow_ had had a contract on him. And he'd had _no idea_. Tony focused on breathing through his nose. "How come?" he asked, voice not squeaky at all.

Natasha considered for a moment. She seemed to make a decision. "Remember Frederick Rothington IV's 40th birthday party?"

Tony thought hard. He'd been to too many damn parties in his life to be sure. And Rothington wasn't even a friend, just an important business contact once upon a time. Big steel producer, before he drank and gambled it all away. "Monaco?" he ventured.

"Yes. Hotel de Paris."

Steve whistled. "Even I've heard of that. It's that really swanky place where all the moneybags—ummm..." He looked at Tony guiltily. Tony raised an eyebrow—not because he cared in the slightest if Steve wanted to call him a moneybag, just because he loved seeing Captain America squirm.

Which Steve did. Adorably. His cheeks even turned pink. "Tony, I..."

Tony winked to let him off the hook. He turned back to Natasha. "So, Freddie's party?"

"Yes. That's where I was going to take you out."

Tony gulped, and reminded himself firmly that this was almost ten years ago—and damn it, how young had Natasha been? If she still wanted to kill him, he'd be able to tell by the being dead already. "Why didn't you?" he asked. The _de Paris_ prided itself on its discretion and security, but he was under no illusion that they could have stopped the Black Widow.

"You won't remember this, but there was an incident that night. Rothington's CFO—"

"Yeah, I remember. He grabbed this young waitress and wouldn't let her go, face in her cleavage and a hand up her—" He stopped abruptly, looking at Natasha, trying to imagine her with blond hair and a waitress uniform. "Was that _you_?"

She nodded. "I could have broken both his arms easily, but not without blowing my cover and drawing attention to myself. So I was working on talking myself out of it." She looked at the others and raised an eyebrow. "Tony noticed. He pulled that guy off me, socked him square in the jaw, made him apologize, and then told Rothington he'd never get another SI contract unless he fired him on the spot."

Steve's grin lit his whole face. "Good job." 

Tony shrugged. "I'm frequently an asshole, but there're lines. Plus, dammit, Nat—you looked like a minor!" 

"I was," Nat said. Clint put an arm around her and she leaned in ever-so-subtly—an indulgence that not that long ago, she'd never have allowed herself in front of the team. She looked back at Tony. "Then you asked if I was all right, tipped me a thousand dollars, and offered me your driver to take me home."

Tony nods. "You looked rattled. Guess that was all cover."

"I was—surprised. I'd read up on you, before, and—well." She shrugged. "It's not like I took care only to kill jerks back then. Or shied away from using emotional weakness. Sometimes I..." She trailed off. Clint gave Tony a look that made it very clear he wasn't to push. Not that he would have. As he'd just been trying to explain, there were limits to how much of an asshole he let himself be.

"Anyway. I decided not to. Sent a message through my contacts saying it couldn't be done. Only contract I ever backed out of." And the Black Widow saying it couldn't be done would probably have dissuaded her erstwhile clients from just hiring someone else. Nat hadn't just refused to kill Tony, she'd protected him.

"Must have been a hit to your reputation," Clint said quietly.

Natasha shrugged. "It was big enough to take a hit."

Clint pressed on. "I remember sometime in the early aughts, rumors popped up that the Black Widow wasn't as formidable as she used to be. That maybe she was going soft or—"

With a movement too fast for Tony to follow, Natasha had Clint in an arm lock. He didn't fight back, just craned his head back and raised an eyebrow at her.

Natasha hissed, "Maybe it got a bit harder to find work for a while. But I _never_ went soft. Understood?"

Clint nodded. "Just a rumor." He looked at Tony as Nat let him go. "And now we know where it started." 

Tony had the weirdest feeling that maybe he should apologize—reputation was important in business. Especially if you were... unconventional in other ways, your customers had to know that no matter what, you could deliver the goods. 

But on the other hand, he wasn't going to apologize for being a nice guy at just the right moment to avoid getting murdered.

Just the right moment... Tony felt his head spin. "What gets me is, if that guy hadn't been a sexist prick that day, I'd be dead now. Almost makes me want to take him off the blacklist and allow him to find a decent job again..."

Natasha speared him with a glare. He raised his hands.

"So, did you just take the six million and run?" he asked. Not that it mattered, but if a man wasn't allowed to be curious about his own assassination premium, what was he allowed to be curious about?

"I'd only gotten half up front. And I paid back the advance."

"Huh. Honor amongst assassins." 

Natasha looked at him, unblinking.

Tony grinned. "Would you like me to reimburse you?" _Not_ killing Tony Stark was a service he totally was willing to splurge on.

Natasha shook her had. "You already have." She sent him one of her rare smiles.

Three days later at breakfast, the news reported that a Russian orphanage, previously close to bankruptcy, had been saved by an anonymous donor and set up with an endowment that would allow them to renovate the building, add an extra wing, hire more caretakers and get a psychologist on staff. 

If Tony felt Natasha's eyes on him, he didn't look up from his Starkpad.


	3. Chapter 3

The Avengers were just starting breakfast when JARVIS spoke up. "Sir, you have a high priority call."

Tony sighed and continued fiddling with the coffee maker. "Tell them to call back after I've had some caffeine."

"He's rather insistent." 

"Who is it?" Tony swiped Natasha's coffee. She raised an eyebrow but didn't immediately kill him. Tony decided to take that as permission. 

JARVIS sounded almost hesitant. "It's General Ross, sir."

Bruce dropped his spoon, splashing himself and Thor with milk. He stared at Tony wide-eyed. Tony patted his forearm. "Don't worry, big guy. I've got this."

"Need any help?" Steve asked, looking from him to Bruce. 

"Nah." He squeezed Bruce's hand and let it go. "Don't freak out, okay?"

Thor put an arm around Bruce. "You have no need to fear this man, my shield brother. None will touch you while the Avengers draw breath."

"That's for sure," Steve agreed. The others nodded. 

Tony looked down at himself. He'd promised Pepper he'd come to the board meeting this morning, so he was wearing a tailor made slate gray suit with a crimson shirt and gold tie. "Um, no." He took off the jacket, tie and shirt, revealing the wifebeater underneath. He stuck his finger into the coffee and put a stain over the arc reactor, then used some jam to add one lower down. He gestured to Clint. "Hoodie."

Clint immediately shrugged off his worn black _Antichrist Superstar_ hoodie and put it down on the table. Tony pulled it on and half-zipped it. He looked up. "How do I look?"

Natasha leaned over and ruffled his hair, tweaking to make it stand up in spikes. "Disreputable and like you don't give a damn."

"Perfect." Tony squared his shoulders. "JARVIS, make sure the camera's zoomed in on me only." He smiled at Bruce. 

"Of course, sir."

"All right, put him on." He cocked his head.

A holographic projection of General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross appeared in the middle of the kitchen table. 

"Took you long enough, Stark."

"Sorry, General," Tony leered. "Had to put on some clothes first and tell the girls I'd be right back." He heard Clint snicker. "They almost didn't let me out of bed. You'd think they could keep themselves amused for a bit, but—" 

Natasha let out a simply indecent moan without even pausing in buttering her breadroll. Clint followed suit, pitching his voice high. Steve turned beet red, Thor was clearly fighting down laughter, and even Bruce cracked a smile.

Tony laughed. "Oh, excellent, they found something to do." 

Ross's face had darkened—it was hard to say if it was anger or embarrassment. Probably both. "Dammit, Stark, you know why I'm calling."

"Indeed you are mistaken, I cannot account for this honor at all!" Tony said in his best Kira Knightly voice. 

He almost forgave Nat for making them watch _Pride & Prejudice_ when Steve quietly said, "I got that reference!" and Bruce's smile widened. 

Ross growled. "It's about the equipment you sold us."

"I was the US Army's biggest supplier for almost two decades. Could you specify?"

Ross hit the table. "The Hulkbuster tech."

The only reason Tony could keep himself from flinching or glancing at Bruce was because he had indeed known that was coming. He wasn't quite up to a flippant reply, though, so he just raised his eyebrows. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The 'problem,' Stark, is the equipment's dead."

Tony pursed his lips and tapped his chin. "Dead how?"

"Nonresponsive, won't start up, all joints jammed, attempts to recalibrate don't get the slightest reaction—basically a bunch of junk metal. And all of it died at exactly the same time!"

"Huh." Tony took out his phone and started pulling up files. "That's unfortunate."

"Stark! Don't pretend you're not responsible for this!"

"What?" Tony looked at Ross and widened his eyes. "No, of course I'm responsible! I engineered this stuff! Totally my bad!" 

Ross growled. "We both know that wasn't what I meant. Fix it."

"Ah, I'm afraid that product line is no longer supported." That got a genuine snort of amusement from Bruce. Tony pushed a button on his phone and put on a wide grin. "Oh, but good news, General! According to our records, the two later models are still under warranty! I can get you a full refund!"

Ross broke the pencil he was holding. "I don't give a damn about your refund, Stark!" 

Tony picked up a spoon and drummed a staccato rhythm on the table. "All right, all right, you've strong-armed me into it. I'll refund you for all four units, even the ones that are out of warranty." 

"Stark! I'll get you for willful destruction of Army property! That's treason."

Tony smiled. "I'm looking forward to seeing your evidence. Check's in the mail. Bye now!" He gestured to JARVIS to cut the call.

The second the image disappeared, Thor started howling with laughter. "Well played, Tony! An excellent match, which you won handsomely."

Steve was grinning, too, and Clint sent Tony a quick wink. Even Natasha's lips were quirked in a smile. 

Tony looked at Bruce. "All right?"

Bruce was cleaning his glasses. "My friend just took on the US Army for me and won. How could I not be?"

"Well... that same friend has his name all over the equipment specifically designed to destroy you," Tony said. Having created the Hulkbuster equipment had been a sore spot with him ever since he'd learned more about Bruce, so, with his typical grace and maturity, he'd taken great care never to bring it up once he met the man. "Bruce, I'm—"

"Shut up." That was the sharpest he'd ever heard Bruce, so Tony obeyed.

Bruce looked him straight in the eyes and said slowly, "I never, ever want to hear an apology for that. With what you knew—with what I knew—it seemed like the best option. Hell, I've told you I tried it myself. If anything, I was disappointed at the time that the equipment couldn't cut it."

Tony grimaced. "One of my few design failures. In my defense, I didn't have nearly enough data on the target." He looked at Bruce and forced himself to drop the mask. He wanted Bruce to be able to read the honesty in his eyes. "Can't say I'm sad about it now."

Bruce smiled. "Me neither. Not anymore."


	4. Chapter 4

Steve was sitting at his desk, drawing the street he'd grow up on. The stoops, the corner store, children playing baseball, the old guys sitting on a bench all day chewing the fat—all gone now.

Well, the street was still there, and the stoops, but the corner store was a Starbucks now , the bench had been removed to create parking spaces, and the children were probably inside playing video games. 

He startled when there was a knock on his door. Before he could say anything, Tony opened it. "Heya, Cap, hope I'm not interrupting anything naughty." He leered. "I lie, I'd totally love to walk in on you in a compromising situation. But today's not that day, huh?"

Steve shook his head, bemused. "What did you need?"

Tony raised a strange little blinking device, as if Steve was supposed to know what it was. "JARVIS is detecting a biohazard. I need to find it and get rid of it before it makes you sick. Can you get sick? Well, whatever, it's gross. And once any more of it starts leaking into the AC system, it could get other people sick, too."

"Biohazard?" Steve asked as Tony started walking around the room staring at the scanner.

"Yeah. There's something rotten in the state of this room. Might be a dead rat or something." He shuddered. "But I hope it's not."

Steve froze. He knew what it was. He knew. And he had to get Tony out of here before—

A sharp, prolonged beep. "Found it!" Tony bent over and peered under the bed. "Aw, you have an under the bed storage crate? What, I didn't give you enough closet space for your three shirts and two pairs of slacks?" He grinned and reached for the box. 

"Tony, no—" Too late. Tony had already pulled out the box and was staring at the contents. 

"What the fuck?" He prodded at a rotting apple with the corner of his scanner, then used it to push some fly-infested bananas to the side, revealing a moldy loaf of bread. "Goddammit, Steve! Are you actively trying to kill us all?" 

Steve swallowed. His cheeks burned. He knew it was crazy to keep all this. He knew. But he couldn't help himself. He needed to keep some food nearby at night. It was selfish, but it was the only way he could sleep. But he always felt he had to bring in more, and then he couldn't always eat it quickly enough, and... He couldn't get himself to throw it out. It was still food. And he could still pick at it—his body could deal with the mold quite well as long as he didn't eat too much at once. 

It was _food_. You didn't throw out food. 

"There's a whole kitchen full of food just down the hallway, and you keep this pile of garbage? What's wrong with—" Tony's mouth snapped shut and he cocked his head. "Well, fuck." He was still staring at Steve, but he no longer looked disgusted. He seemed thoughtful now. 

Steve hung his head. Tony had given him this wonderful room—it was larger than the apartment he'd shared with his mother growing up, and this was only for the interim till their own floors—their own floors!—were ready. And how did Steve repay him? By creating a biohazard just because he couldn't get himself to throw out an apple.

He knew it was crazy. Tony was a billionaire. There'd always be more food. He forced himself to look at Tony. "I'm sorry."

Tony stood. "Stay here. I'll be back." He rushed out, leaving the scanner, which was still beeping occasionally. 

Steve took a deep breath and stood. It was time to man up and do what needed to be done. He picked up the box and went to the kitchen. He was glad he didn't run into any of his teammates. He couldn't face them right now.

He gritted his teeth and fed the apple to the garbage disposal. He wondered what Tony would do. Steve knew he deserved to be thrown out—any other landlord would—but Tony was generous to a fault and would probably still let him stay. Maybe he'd tell JARVIS to watch him, or inspect his room every day from now on. If he did, Steve would let him without complaint. 

He put the bananas into the disposal and picked up the loaf of bread. He almost wanted to eat a slice or two to save them at least, but seeing Tony look at the food in disbelieving disgust had somehow driven home how inappropriate that was. 

When everything was gone, he scrubbed the box out with vinegar and went back to his room. 

He was surprised to find Thor standing by the desk. "Steve!" Thor greeted him with a broad smile. "Tony asked me to deliver this box to your quarters." He gestured at a gray cardboard box with some cables poking out at the top. "He will be back shortly and asked for my help installing it."

"Installing what?" Steve asked.

Thor shook his head. "I did not ask. He was in one of those moods when his tongue fails him because his hands are so busy." 

Steve almost smiled. He knew exactly what Thor meant. Tony could talk several miles a minute, but when he really got into a task, it was hard to get two syllables in a row out of him.

He nudged the box with a foot. It seemed heavy—heavy for Tony, at least. That was probably why Tony'd asked Thor to bring it here. He wondered what it was. Some sort of scanner, probably, or possibly surveillance cameras—Tony had promised them no surveillance in their personal quarters, but maybe he thought Steve had forfeited the right to privacy. 

Steve felt a heavy knot in his stomach. _Biohazard_ he reminded himself sharply. _Once it leaks into the AC system, other people could get sick._

"What troubles you, Steve?" Thor asked gently. 

Steve shook his head. "It's just... I'm sorry I made Tony angry."

"Angry? Who's angry?" Tony rushed into the room with a toolbox and—a big saw. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Thor, get that box open while I saw the hole. JARVIS, throw the measurements up on the wall for me. Make sure you put it near the—aw, you know."

"Indeed, sir." A rectangle about the size of a kitchen cabinet appeared on the wall, outlined in clear blue holographic lines.

Tony revved the saw. "All right, gentlemen, stand back!"

"Tony, what—" But before Steve could ask, Tony'd started sawing into his wall.

Thor bellowed a laugh. "I don't think it's wise to ask him questions right now, Steve." He had torn away most of the cardboard, revealing black metal casing. 

Tony set down the saw and kicked the small pile of rubble he'd created. "Don't worry, I'll send one of the cleanbots in later to deal with this." He looked around. "Um. And someone to dust the rest of the room."

"I can do it," Steve said quickly. He'd caused enough of a hassle already. 

Tony took some metal braces and an electric drill from his toolbox. "Don't worry, this'll only take a few minutes." He started drilling inside the opening he'd created.

Steve really wanted to ask what "this" was, but decided to follow Thor's advice. 

Tony put down the drill and pulled some cables out of the wall. He started fiddling with some other tools. "All right, Thor, can you hold it here for me?"

"Gladly." Thor picked up the device and stood next to Tony. Steve could still only see the black back and sides, since the front was now hidden by Thor's bulk. 

Tony connected the wall cables to the device. "JARVIS?"

"Everything's in working order, sir." 

"Okay, Thor, now push it into the hole. Slowly. Make sure it's on the braces."

Thor nodded and lifted the box into the wall opening. It fit flush. Tony picked up a tube of something gooey and went around the frame once. "There, that's good."

Tony and Thor stepped back, and Steve finally had a chance to look at the new addition to his room. It was a glass cabinet. He frowned. "I don't understand." 

Tony opened the door and flicked a switch inside. A low blue light appeared. "Here, you can dim that to any light level you like. Standard temp's 36 Fahrenheit, but give it an hour or so to get there."

The penny dropped. "It's... a fridge?"

Tony smiled. "Yep. What'd you think, widescreen TV?" He frowned. "Did you want a widescreen TV? Because I can totally get you—"

"No! No, Tony I..." Steve shook his head. He couldn't believe it. A fridge—easily twice the size of his pathetic little plastic box. With lights and a glass door, so every time he woke up at night, he'd just have to open his eyes to see it, see all the food he could now store nearby without it spoiling. "Thank you." It didn't begin to cover the depth of gratitude he felt, but he was too overwhelmed to get out more.

Tony grinned. "Ah, it's nothing." He walked over and put a hand on Steve's shoulder. His dark eyes were serious and his voice quiet when he asked, "Anything else you need?"

Steve shook his head. 

"Right. But if you ever do—"

"I'll know to ask now." Steve's cheeks were still burning.

Tony squeezed his shoulder. "Good." He looked at Thor over his shoulder. "Hey, Hammertime, you still want to learn how to drive?"

Thor nodded eagerly.

Tony chuckled. "Come on then. Let's give Cap time to stock his fridge in peace."


	5. Chapter 5

At the end of the meeting, Fury looked at Tony in a way that immediately put him on his guard. "There's one more thing, Stark."

"Yes?" He smiled pleasantly, showing his teeth. 

"Your father—" And now the whole team was sitting up straighter. "—used to keep very detailed notes on all his projects. I assume they went to you after his death."

Tony nodded. "They did."

"We'd like access to them. Specifically anything from the 40s."

Tony's eyes flicked to Steve, who was looking at Fury with narrowed eyes.

"And what exactly," Tony asked, "would you like to read up on?" He knew, and he could feel Bruce's eyes boring into him. Damn Fury for bringing this up in front of the team.

"Vita rays," Fury said simply. Steve opened his mouth, then looked at Tony and closed it again.

Tony appreciated Cap's confidence, but he'd almost have preferred him ordering Tony to shut up and maneuvering him out of the room. Since that apparently wasn't going to happen, he'd just have to do the right thing himself. "Nope, sorry, no can do."

"Goddammit, Stark, we need those notes. We've been over—" His eye went from Tony to Steve, then to Bruce, and back to Tony. "—everything we've got, and we have a theory. We think that vita rays are more than just gamma radiation after all."

Bruce very deliberately folded his hands on the table and stared at them. Tony wished he'd stormed out and slammed the door instead, but that wasn't Bruce's style. 

Unfortunately, he couldn't worry about Bruce's feelings right now. He had to deal with Fury. "Yeah, you got that right. They're a complex combination of gamma, x, and ultraviolet waves." He felt Bruce going completely stiff beside him.

Fury's eye widened and he clenched his hands into fist on the table. "You have that information and haven't told us till now?"

"Wellllll..." Tony leaned back and crossed his arms. '"Had that information,' sure. 'Have it,' not so much." 

"What's that supposed to mean? Where are the notes?"

"I burned them."

"What?"

"The minute I realized what they were, and before I'd read them all the way through." He smiled at Fury pleasantly.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Because I'm no good at resisting temptation." He felt Bruce cringe next to him. Damn, that had probably been insensitive.

"So it's all about you? You destroyed important intel so you wouldn't be exposed to temptation?"

"No. I destroyed it so I wouldn't and nobody else would either."

Fury's eye narrowed in a way that told Tony a low blow was coming. "Well, that approach certainly was very useful to Doctor Banner. Maybe if he'd had the information you so wantonly destroyed—"

Tony gripped the edge of the table till the woodgrain bit painfully into his fingertips. "If Doctor Banner had reached out to me for a consult before his experiment, I would have advised him not to in the strongest possible terms." Bruce didn't move, and that was worse than if he'd turned and punched Tony.

"If you had shared the notes—"

"Oh, come on, Nick!" Tony slapped the table. "You know as well as I do if I'd let anyone see them, we'd have _more_ people trying it, not fewer."

"One of them might have succeeded!"

"Or we might have a lot of dead researchers on our hands." 

"Or worse," Bruce added quietly. Tony couldn't look at him.

"Fury, the super soldier project is not safe," Tony said, keeping his voice under control with an effort. "It never was safe. There's been one successful attempt in the history of ever. Apart from Steve, there are only three people who even survived the experiment. And two of them went evil." Tony carefully avoided saying the Red Skull's and Blonsky's names, because that'd have forced him to name Bruce in the same breath with them and he wasn't going to do that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clint putting a hand on Bruce's shoulder, and he wanted to punch himself. But there was no way to soften the blow without giving Fury an inch, and he couldn't give on this. 

Fury sounded as if he was straining to be reasonable. "With more careful, better-funded research—animal trials..." 

"Yeah, no way for that to go wrong." Though he had to admit the mental image of giant green bunnies hopping around Manhattan was amusing, he was aware the reality wouldn't be. "Besides, you're missing the point. I wouldn't help you even if you were sure of success."

"Why not? Scared of too much competition in the superhero business?"

Tony scoffed. "And how sure are you all of them would end up superheroes? It seems to me they'd be equally qualified for the exact opposite." 

Fury shook his head. "Careful recruitment—"

"—has gone wrong before. The two cases I mentioned, for starters, plus you know the guy they almost picked in Steve's program? What'shisface—the guy Philips wanted?" 

"Hodge," Steve supplied quietly from where he was sitting across the table at Fury's right. 

"Yeah." Tony drummed his fingers on the table. "We all know what happened with him."

Fury looked away, but Steve shook his head. "I don't."

"Nick? Care to enlighten our good Captain?"

"Court martialed for torturing an inferior to death—he called it 'hazing the new guy.'" To Fury's credit, there was exactly as much disgust in his voice as Tony felt. 

"Yep." Tony spread his hands. "And that's the guy who was about an inch away from becoming the only super soldier in the world."

Steve looked sick. Thor put an arm around him.

Fury glowered. "Don't you think SHIELD could do a better job of picking—"

Tony jumped up and started pacing. "Even if you only picked perfect saints, and could guarantee a 100% success rate at turning them into physically impressive saints, it'd still be wrong." 

"What?" That had been Steve, not Fury. Tony desperately wanted to ask him and Bruce, at least, to leave, but there was no way they would.

Tony rubbed his arc reactor. "The whole premise of Project Rebirth is flawed."

"Are you going to claim conscientious objection?" Fury almost sneered, apparently feeling himself back on safer ground now. "You've made weapons much more deadly than super soldiers, Stark!"

"Yes, I did. I made high-powered rifles, bombs, grenades, drones, missiles—I made billions doing nothing but producing things that kill people. They used to call me the Merchant of Death. And you know what?" He cocked his head at Fury. "Not once— _not once_ in all of this did it occur to me to use humans as raw materials." 

Silence. Tony saw Steve's eyes widen and Bruce duck his head. Clint's gaze shifted uncomfortably from one to the other. Natasha and Thor were keeping their own counsel, but while Nat's face was blank, Thor had a deep wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows. 

Fury ignored them all, glowering at Tony in a way that would have scared anyone who hadn't grown up being glowered at by Howard Stark. "That's not what the project is, Stark"

"That's _exactly_ what it is." Tony felt his stomach clench. He didn't want to say these words with the only two known survivors of the experiment in the room, but he couldn't not. "Project Rebirth doesn’t turn its subjects into better people. Just better weapons." 

"Stark—" Fury gritted his teeth. "—didn't I hear you tell Captain Rogers once that everything special about him came out of a bottle?" 

"Yeah. I say a lot of stupid shit." Tony took a deep breath. Steve and he had talked about their fight on the Helicarrier. Well, Steve had done most of the actual talking, but Tony had nodded in all the right places and he was sure they'd forgiven each other. At least he hoped so. "The serum didn't make Steve braver, kinder, and more just. That's all vintage Steve Rogers. The serum just made him bigger, stronger, faster, and harder to damage. All things you want in your armaments. Believe me, I know." He pointed at Steve emphatically, but didn't meet his eyes.

He couldn't look at any of his teammates now, so he settled for glaring at Fury. "Look, it doesn't matter. I burned the notes to ash and dumped the ash into the Pacific. And you can’t do shit about that unless one of your lab monkeys invents a time machine, and since you have neither me nor Bruce, that's not gonna happen." Tony crossed his arms. "And you can yell at me till your other eye pops out, but that's all you can do. My father's diaries were legally mine to do with as I pleased." 

Fury shook his head. "I swear, Stark, one of these days..." He nodded to the rest of the team and left, growling curses under his breath.

Tony considered storming out the opposite way, but that'd just be delaying the inevitable. He couldn't hide from his teammates forever, especially since they all lived in his home. He took a deep breath and turned to Bruce.

Bruce was watching him silently over the top of his glasses, fingers running back and forth along the edge of the table.

Tony put his hands in his pockets. "I'm not going to apologize." He forced himself not to sound defensive, but that just made it come out flat. 

Bruce bit his lip. "No reason you should." God, he looked so—chastised. Tony hated himself for having put that look on his face. Who the hell was he to teach Bruce a lesson about why the super soldier serum was a bad idea? Tony Stark, king of bad ideas. 

Tony tried to explain. "I... disagree with some of the decisions you've made. I disagree with a hell of a lot of the decisions _I've_ made." 

Bruce grimaced. "Believe me, they're not decisions I'm proud of." 

It wasn't right. Tony knew Bruce was a better man than him. Tony'd just been luckier. It was unfair, it was ugly, and he wished he knew how to make it better. He desperately tried to think of something to say. For a genius, he really was an imbecile sometimes. 

He glanced around at the rest of the team. Steve's eyes showed turmoil, but he smiled when he saw Tony looking at him. It wasn't a happy smile, but one that conveyed, at the very least, acceptance of his point of view. Of course, that was easier for Steve than Bruce. Steve had only been a subject of the super soldier experiment. Bruce had been a perpetrator. 

Thor, Nat and Clint were watching passively. This was between Tony and Bruce. He was supposed to fix it.

Just as Tony was beginning to seriously consider apologizing anyway—what was one more lie out of Tony Stark's mouth?—Bruce spoke up again. 

"So, I'm starving." He stood and picked up his jacket. "There's a Cambodian place across the street that I've been wanting to try, but it looks really pricey..." He cocked his head at Tony.

It was an excuse. Tony knew what Stark Industries paid Bruce for his consulting work, and he assumed that his SHIELD check was the same amount they'd offered Tony way back when—he'd laughed it off, but for anyone not him it was an impressive sum. Plus, Bruce lived rent free and with hot and cold running groceries. He could afford to eat in any damn place in the city.

Bruce was giving him an out. He knew how unspeakably bad Tony was at conversations about... human stuff. He was giving Tony an easy way to slip back into a familiar role. 

_If I were a better person, I wouldn't take it._ He knew he should say something profound and deep and comforting to somehow let Bruce know he loved him and he was sorry his words had hurt him even though he'd meant them and he wished he knew how to do conflict without being an asshole about it but he'd never learned how and please, please let's still be friends. 

But if he tried, he'd fumble it, screw up, make it even more offensive somehow. 

He put on Anthony Edward Stark's billion dollar grin. "Cambodian for everyone! On me." 

As they walked through the door, Bruce slipped an arm around Tony's shoulders and pulled him close for a moment. So maybe he'd said everything he'd needed to after all.


	6. +1

Tony stormed into the medical room as fast as his limp would let him. "How is he?" 

"Still sleeping, so be quiet," Steve admonished. He looked Tony up and down, eyes lingering on every bruise and bandage. "Are you here AMA?" he asked with a frown.

"I didn't leave medical, did I?" True, the doctors had wanted to cart Tony straight from the exam room to an inpatient bed. He had bruised ribs, cuts and abrasions all over, his ankle was busted, and one of his wrists was in a splint. The giant cyborg bumblebees— _This is my life now._ —had slammed into him, shoved him into buildings, and shot him with their semi-organic projectiles which luckily didn't penetrate the armor but did dent it badly. 

The attackers had been focused mostly on Tony and Thor as the only flyers, though the Hulk with his amazing ability to leap had taken out as many of the things as the rest of them combined and remained uninjured himself. Thor had a few bruises and cuts, but they were mostly minor and healing quickly. The same was true for Steve and Nat, thank god.

But he'd needed to know how Clint was, and no one would give him a straight answer. Tony limped over to Clint's bedside. He looked from the pale form of the archer to the beeping monitors. "Is he going to be okay?"

Clint had been on top of a building, shooting exploding arrows at the attacking swarm, and one of the beasts had gotten to him, slapped him around and propelled him off the building. The Hulk had caught him, but only after he'd hit a horizontal flag pole and a window ledge on his way down. Tony's guts churned at the memory of seeing him fall.

Bruce nodded. "Probably. He'll be out of commission for a while, but there's nothing here that can't heal up nicely, baring unforeseen complications. The biggest problem will be keeping him down and getting him to rest once he starts feeling better."

"Don't worry," Natasha said. "I'll make sure he stays put." It could have been a threat, but there was a curious warmth underneath it.

Tony was leaning on the rail of Clint's bed. Bruce looked at him from the other side, his face full of concern Tony didn't deserve. "Tony? Are you okay?" 

"I—fuck." Tony half turned so he could look at Bruce, Steve, Thor and Natasha. But then he found he couldn't. He dropped his gaze to the floor. "Guys—I'm so, so sorry."

Bruce frowned. "Tony—"

"I should never have let this thing get to him! He could have died." He covered the arc reactor with his good hand.

"'Twas not your fault, Tony," Thor said. "The beasts were canny and swift flyers. Many a one got past me, too." 

"But you weren't in charge of Clint's safety. I had _one job_."

Natasha spoke up. "Stark, if you'd let Clint down, you'd know. Because I'd have explained it to you in great detail while I killed you very, very slowly." She shrugged one shoulder. "It's combat. Shit happens."

Tony shook his head. Why was everyone going easy on him? He didn't deserve pity, his injuries were nothing compared to Clint's. "I—"

"Tony, I don't remember what happened." Bruce looked at Tony over his glasses. "But I know you. I know you always try your hardest at everything you set your mind to. And I know you don't let this team down." Any other day, Tony would have been thrilled to hear Bruce say those words. Only Tony just _had_ let the team down. Badly.

He curled his shoulders and turned back to look at Clint. Even if Clint didn't die, what if he sustained permanent damage? He needed to be in top condition to do his job. What if he could never work again? 

Tony would happily pay for Clint to live in the lap of luxury and never worry about a thing, but Clint would be miserable. He needed his job as much as Tony needed his workshop.

He heard Steve stand. "Tony. Front and center." 

Trust Cap to not let him off. Tony immediately turned and moved to stand in front of Steve. He tried to stand at attention like he'd seen Clint do when he knew he was about to be chewed out. Not that it'd help anything, but he could at least try to do this right.

"What, exactly, were my orders to you?" Steve asked, his voice calm.

"Stay near Clint and protect his position. Don't let any of the ugly bugs get to him. Line them up for the shooting," Tony said. That was verbatim. 

"And did you leave Clint's position?"

Damn, was that how Steve thought this had happened? "No! I was right there, Cap! I can show you the footage." He fumbled for his phone.

Steve shook his head. "I believe you. And for the first part of the battle, did you let any of them touch Clint?"

Tony shook his head. Steve had to know that. Tony was beginning to wonder where he was going with this.

"And then what happened?"

"It was after the Big Guy brought down their mothership, or whatever that floating hive thing was. It must have been a last-ditch attack. They were rushing us." 

"And what did you do? Did you beat it and take cover?"

"What?" Tony fought hard to swallow the annoyance at the accusation. "Hell, no. I took down as many as I could. JARVIS was on my ass about putting too much strain on the arc reactor, but I told him if I couldn't get them down, there was really nothing to save it for." 

Steve raised his eyebrows and turned his palms outward. "So, you did exactly what you were supposed to do, to the best of your abilities, but the enemy overwhelmed you by sheer numbers?" 

Tony stopped and blinked. Put like that... Then he shook his head. "I should have been faster." He was Ironman, goddamit. 

"You can only do what you can do, Tony." Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "This wasn't your fault." 

"It was!" He was a genius. He should have been able to think of something, should have been prepared. "If I'd been better, if I'd built the armor to be more maneuverable..." 

"Oh, fuck," Clint groaned from behind him. Tony turned. Clint's eyes were open and he was looking straight at him. "Nat, flick his ear for me, would you?"

"OUCH!" That had hurt a lot more than such a little thing should be able to.

"Thanks. Stark, come here."

Tony walked to the bed, rubbing his ear and looking anywhere but at Clint. 

Clint rolled his eyes. "Give me your hand."

Tony bit his lip and put his hand down on Clint's upturned palm. Clint wrapped his fingers around Tony's.

"Now listen to me, you idiot. I saw the whole thing. There were thirteen of those things on your ass all at once, with six more closing in. I took down eight, but I couldn't shoot the ones really close to you because they might have taken you down in the explosion. You got ten. Ten that were right on you, shooting at you and hitting you and moving so fast even I could only just follow." He shrugged one shoulder, then groaned when his ribs complained. 

"Lie still," Bruce gentled, offering him a bottle of water with a straw. 

"In a minute, Bruce," Clint said. "Gotta finish this first." He looked back at Tony. "One got by you. One. It slipped by overhead while three others were pummeling you. I got an arrow in it just as it reached me, but it had enough time to slap me back against the rail, and the shock wave from the explosion threw me off the roof." He shook his head. "It was dumb luck, Stark. Without you, I'd be dead." 

And hearing it explained like this, all the details plain and Clint's voice without the slightest bit of doubt or reproach, Tony could nearly believe it. Nearly. But... "You were almost dead with me, too."

"That's the job," Clint said, squeezing Tony's hand. "Stark, have I ever once hesitated to tell you when you'd screwed up, or when you were being a dumbass?"

Tony's fought back a smile. "Not that I could tell." Clint and he didn't pull punches with each other. That was why they got along so well. 

Well, not metaphorical ones. If Clint didn't pull his real punches in hand-to-hand training, Tony wouldn't be standing here now. 

Clint grinned. "Then trust me when I say you didn't screw up in the battle, but you're being a dumbass now. We beat 'em, and we all survived. It's a good day. Don't ruin it by moping." 

Tony hesitated. "I'm just—fuck it, Clint, I'm sorry you got hurt, okay?" It wasn't much of an apology, but Clint didn't seem to want one.

"Yeah, okay. You're forgiven." 

Tony took a deep breath for what felt like the first time since the battle. His ribs protested, but he didn't care. He grinned at Clint.

Clint grinned back. "Now do you suppose you could use your vast fortune to get us some decent food? SHIELD HQ food is even worse than the stuff in the caf on the Helicarrier." 

Tony laughed and pulled out his phone.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is the title of a song by Elton John and Bernie Taupin, recorded and released by Elton John in 1976.


End file.
